Nightlocked
by sue-sylvester-shuffle
Summary: Snapshots in the life of Haymitch Abernathy, suicidal rebel and victor from District Twelve. • When he wanted to kill himself to spite the Capitol. When he couldn't kill himself in fear of what they'd do to the pretty new escort. When both of his tributes lived. When he tried to save the escort but failed to find her in time. • (SLIGHT HAYFFIE. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS.)


Many, many times in his twenty-five years of mentoring, Haymitch Abernathy considered suicide.

He brushed it off at first, being a boy of only sixteen. That was far too young, and he was still the Capitol's prime topic of conversation. Still, as the years dragged on, it called to him more and more. They were dark whispers in his head that slithered around his nightmares when he lay awake at night. The more Haymitch dwelled on the thought of killing himself, the more he realized that everything about it was perfect. First of all, he'd be putting himself out of his misery. He'd be rid of the guilt, terror, and overwhelming pain he endured every single day. He'd be rid of the bottles and flasks. He'd be rid of his own self-loathing. Still, the best part of it was the implications it would have back in the Capitol. He was District Twelve's only surviving victor. With him dead… who would mentor the tributes from District Twelve? There would be repercussions, he knew that. Who they would affect, he didn't know. His family? That was a laugh. Him? He would be long dead by the time the Capitol got wind of it. His district? He didn't care.

Still, he was a mentor. He thought that there was a chance he might be able to bring some of those tributes home, so he waited.

He was wrong. They all died. He waited longer.

He waited long enough that the old, creepy escort they'd had died and a new one was sent to Haymitch's decrepit district. She was young and eager, probably only just eighteen years old. "My name is Effie Trinket!" she'd told him in a bubbly voice, tainted only by her Capitol accent. "You must be Haymitch Abernathy, right? I'm ever so excited to meet you!"

She seemed nice enough, despite how _loud _she was and, obviously, her heritage. Haymitch decided to take pity on her, and wait even longer to finally die. She was young, and new, and would be distraught if her career was ruined by the one mentor from her district dying.

That was a mistake.

Within her very first year of escorting, Effie grew annoying. She grew bossy and controlling. Her simple Capitol fashion exploded into a frenzy of wigs and makeup. Haymitch grew to hate her. He called her Trinket, which annoyed her to no end. She called him a drunk, which frankly he already knew.

At the age of twenty-six, he started to plan his own suicide, just to spite her and end his own misery.

Then something happened that changed everything.

It was her very first year, which meant that it was her very first time getting to know the two tributes from District Twelve- and then watching them get slaughtered on live television, right in front of her horrified green eyes. Haymitch was in his room, knocking back a bottle of liquor, when he heard the screams from the television. It was his tenth year of mentoring, and he had learned not to watch, but evidently she hadn't figured that part out yet. He heard the television click off, and then heard Effie start to cry.

That was new. The old escort had cheered every time.

Then he heard Effie speak, her words choppy amongst her sobs. "Mr. Abernathy… Haymitch. Haymitch?"

Haymitch's body tensed up. Why was she calling him? He didn't want to talk to her. So he held his breath, hoping she would give up.

She didn't. She kept calling out, her soft voice shaking. "Haymitch, wh-where are you? Haymitch!" He could just imagine crystal tears dripping down her porcelain skin. The image sent a shiver down his spine, and he gritted his teeth almost painfully.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, Haymitch got up off of his bed, and put down his bottle. He went out into the living room, where Effie was standing, her face full of true anguish and confusion.

"Were you watching?" she asked, trying to hold back her tears and make it look like she hadn't been crying. He wasn't sure why she was even trying.

"No. I never do."

"Well, they're dead. B-Both of them." stammered Effie. "They d-died in the bloodbath… before they could even get away from the Cornucopia."

Haymitch shrugged. "That's usually what happens. Don't worry your pretty little head, it wasn't your fault." _Because it's mine, _he thought as he turned around, heading back toward his room.

Effie spoke up again, making Haymitch stop in his tracks. "Why does it hurt, Mr. Abernathy?" she whimpered.

"What are you talking about, Trinket?" he asked, turning around to face her again and raising one dark eyebrow.

"I used to love watching the Games!" Effie told him tremulously. "Why does being an escort change everything? Why… why does it _hurt _so much?"

For that second, and that second _only, _Haymitch saw her for what she was; a confused, distraught girl. She was only eighteen, only two years older than he had been when he won his Games.

"You'll get used to it." Haymitch said. "I promise you will."

"Get used to… get used to what?"

"This." he replied, gesturing all around him. Gesturing to her. Gesturing to the television. "I get- I mean, _we _get two tributes every year. Then they die. It's as simple as that. Once you stop caring… it stops hurting." Haymitch wouldn't actually know if watching the tributes die would _ever _stop hurting, because he still cared. He knew that if _he _still gave a damn, there was no way Effie would ever be able to let go.

"But I don't want to just _get used _to this!" Effie was crying again. Tears poured freely from her spring-green eyes. "They can't just always _die!_ They just _can't._" He saw so much regret in her face. _She's so young, _he thought. _Why has she gotten herself into this mess?_

"Trinket, there's a reason I'm the only living victor from Twelve." he reminded her gently. "They never live."

A loud sob escaped her, and she bowed her head down, pressing one gloved hand to her streaming eyes. Haymitch stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. After a few moments of this, he went the extra mile by folding her awkwardly into his arms, pressing her face to his chest. Even though he disliked Effie, he would give her the comfort that the old escort had never given him, despite his being a scared seventeen-year-old boy the first time he was a mentor.

"How long have you been doing this?" Effie asked a few minutes later, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Ten years." he answered her.

"And you haven't broken down?"

"I never said that."

"But you're still doing it."

"I don't really have a choice."

Effie pulled back then, and delicately wiped her eyes. She tilted her head back to look into his face, and smiled sadly. "You're a very brave man, Mr. Abernathy. Thank you." With a discreet little sniffle, she headed down the hallway to her bedroom.

Haymitch headed back to his own bedroom shortly after. He picked up his bottle of liquor and took a long draught from it. Then he decided to wait a little longer to kill himself- for her.

Years passed, and he still didn't do it. She repaid him by taking away his much-needed alcohol and snapping at him to go take a shower. He countered by spilling his drinks on her expensive clothing and insulting her relentlessly.

It wasn't like that first year at all anymore. Gone was the scared girl who had needed him to hold her. Gone was the unexpectedly empathetic boy who had comforted her. Haymitch hated his situation even more now- but the option of suicide was gone as well. Now he knew who they'd target if he did kill himself. Sure, Effie Trinket drove him crazy, and his dislike for her grew every time he was in her vicinity, but she would just be another person who died because of his actions. The tributes he'd killed in his games… his family… none of them deserved to die. He didn't want to add Effie to that list.

So he followed his own advice and _stayed alive. _

Fast forward about fourteen years. Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were thrown into their lives- and they _lived. _Both of them. Effie was ecstatic.

"Haymitch, I can't believe it!" She jumped off of her side of the couch and seized him by the front of his shirt. "They _both _lived! Oh, this has never happened before! This is amazing!"

Haymitch wasn't celebrating, though. He knew that they had crossed a line. Judging by what had happened to him after his Games, after he too had crossed a line…

"This isn't good." was all he said in response.

She looked confused. "What are you talking about? It's _great!_"

Haymitch just shook his head.

Fast forward another year. As lightning was shooting down onto the Quarter Quell arena, Haymitch was desperately trying to find Effie. He should have left to find Plutarch and the hovercraft five minutes ago- but he just couldn't leave knowing that _she_ was still there. He knew that if he didn't bring her along with him to let the rebels protect her, she would be taken and tortured. "Effie!" he screamed, running all around the penthouse. "Effie, where the hell are you? Please! _Effie!_ Effie goddamn Trinket!"

Just then the door banged open and Plutarch ran in, panting and red-faced. "Haymitch! What are you still doing here, man!?" he cried. "We've got to go _now!_"

"I can't find Effie!" Haymitch yelled.

"Leave her!" Plutarch hissed. "She's not part of the plan!"

Haymitch gritted his teeth. "All right." he conceded finally. _I'm sorry, Effie, _he thought miserably as he and Plutarch raced out.

Fast forward a few weeks. Haymitch sat in his dreary living quarters in District Thirteen all alone, his head pounding fiercely. He needed a drink- but more than that, he needed to know if Effie was all right. There had been no news about her at all. He felt awful- and not just because of his withdrawal symptoms. If anything happened to Effie, it would be his fault. Every day he thought of how he should have ignored Plutarch and kept looking for her. She would be so confused… and if they tortured her for information, she would have none to give. As always, she was clueless, naive Effie Trinket, and this time, it would be the death of her.

For the first time in fifteen years, Haymitch Abernathy had the urge to kill himself.

end


End file.
